Cognates
by Leahna
Summary: A raptor attack leaves a lone survivor. What havoc will ensue from her arrival?


Professor George Edward Challenger alighted from the elevator and headed away from the tree-house. It seemed that more and more of his scientific excursions were solitary. Today he would have liked some company, but Roxton and Marguerite had gone hunting (although he greatly doubted they would bring anything back for the larder). Veronica and Finn were spending the day working in the garden, and Malone had decided to update his journals. It was times like this that he felt Summerlee's loss most acutely. He was still amazed that in spite of all their arguing and years of fervent competition they had become such close friends. Or perhaps all the fighting had contributed to their friendship? "It doesn't really matter," he muttered out loud, "but I do miss you, old friend."  
  
He'd been walking for hours, collecting a few insects, but nothing spectacular, when a sudden prickling sensation ran down his spine. He had learned the hard way not to ignore that sixth sense. But there were no variations in the usual sounds that filled the jungle - No, wait! Was that a flash of movement off to the left? Yes, there it was again, barely a glimpse visible through the dense underbrush, but definitely moving closer. He waited guardedly, ready to dive for cover and defend himself if necessary. But nothing could have prepared him for what emerged from the trees a dozen yards away.  
  
A young raptor tumbled onto the path. Clutched in its mouth was a man's arm with much of the upper torso still attached. Following closely on its heels, another raptor burst into view, viciously battling for possession of the bloody feast.  
  
Sickened, Challenger pulled his rifle from where it hung on his shoulder and slowly, quietly, took aim at the first vile beast. The weapon's deafening report was followed immediately by the dinosaur's sudden squeal. The arm dropped from its mouth as the raptor keeled over.  
  
The second raptor swung its elongated head toward the professor. Too quickly, the scientist shot at the charging dinosaur. His bullet merely creased its long, green neck. It was enough to make the raptor stop and scream. It took another stride toward Challenger who was feeding bullets into his weapon as quickly as possible. The dinosaur hissed at its antagonist, then returned to where the other raptor lay dead. It grabbed up the arm over which they'd been fighting, then hurried off with its spoils.  
  
Challenger sighed in relief. Holding his reloaded rifle ready, he retraced the raptors' trail to search for survivors.  
  
The wide, bloody trail was easy to follow. It ended in a small clearing which now contained the ruined remains of a camp. Going down on one knee, he studied the tracks which covered nearly every inch of the ground. Thanks to Roxton's exhaustive tutelage, he recognised the areas where the dinosaurs had attacked people and where the raptors had fought with each other. He shook his head as he realised that there had been nearly a dozen raptors tearing through the encampment. The professor walked methodically around the camp, checking in each downed tent and under every overturned crate. He had little hope of finding survivors, but he had to look, as grisly as the search was. With so much blood spattered across the scattered and trampled remnants of the once well equipped camp, he knew that scavengers would soon swarm the area. He had to be quick.  
  
Using the barrel of his rifle, he turned over the tattered canvas of one tent after another. A shrill scream assailed his ears as he lifted a torn flap on the last tent. Huddled beneath the ripped fabric and wedged between some small crates was a lone survivor. The small woman's eyes were wide with terror. Her dark hair tumbled wildly across her face. She tried to back away, but was trapped in her hiding place.  
  
Challenger held out his hand. "You're all right. Let me help you." He kept his hand outstretched as he smiled encouragingly.  
  
She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again soundlessly. She closed her eyes securely and when she reopened them, she held out her hand tentatively. Challenger grabbed it tightly and helped her to her feet. Although shaken, she seemed unharmed. "Can you walk?" he asked keeping a firm hold on her hand.  
  
She stared up at him with her huge, green eyes and nodded. Without another word, he tugged at her hand and led her from the destruction.  
  
Neither noticed the cold, blue eyes watching from the underbrush.  
  
********  
  
"Please, please," the woman finally spoke. Her French accent was light, as if she'd been away from her country a long time. She stopped and leaned heavily against a tree, then slowly slid down until she sat on the ground. Absently, she arranged her long, heavy, dark green skirt over her bent knees and around her ankles. She wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees.  
  
Guessing that her thoughts were still in the destroyed camp, Challenger began to talk in an attempt to keep her mind from the slaughter. "We should be safe enough here for a short rest." As he sat down beside her, he continued, "I'm George Challenger...."  
  
Her eyes suddenly snapped to the present. She turned and really looked at him for the first time, "Professor Challenger?"  
  
Pride tinged his voice as he responded, "You've heard of me."  
  
"You are the reason I am here."  
  
The red-haired scientist studied the petite woman. She seemed somehow familiar. "Do I know you?"  
  
She shook her head, her dark tresses bouncing, "We intended to succeed where you had failed." She looked down at the ground, "Oh, I know that sounds awful, but everyone believes that you are dead. We wanted to find your glorious plateau and bring back proof of both your discovery and your fate."  
  
"I intend to return with that proof myself," Challenger retorted.  
  
"Yes," she reached over and touched his arm pleading, "and please, take me with you."  
  
********  
  
"Something about her just doesn't seem right," Veronica said quietly to Ned Malone as she put finishing touches on the dinner salad.  
  
The journalist grinned in response, "You are always suspicious of any woman who comes along -- especially if she's attractive."  
  
"She's old enough to be my mother," Veronica protested. "Besides, how often am I wrong?"  
  
Unable to think of even one instance, Malone stood wordlessly watching as the blonde jungle girl took the finished salad to the table. She set it in front of Challenger who was regaling Finn and his new foundling, Colette, with stories of their adventures on the plateau.  
  
"You are amazing!" Colette exclaimed.  
  
"Oh, anyone with an equal knowledge of electrical conductivity could have done the same," he replied with false modesty.  
  
"I don't know," Finn contemplated. "It's an interesting story, and I could believe Marguerite as an ice queen, but blue men and ice rocks from space? It just isn't very believable."  
  
"I assure you," Challenger blustered, "It is all true..."  
  
Wearing a wide smile, Veronica interrupted the petulant scientist saying, "I think we're all willing to concede that not everything which happens here on the plateau could occur anywhere else."  
  
"And," Malone added, "we can agree to enjoy this delicious meal with out further debate."  
  
Challenger laughed, "The plateau's mysteries can wait." Giving himself a generous portion of stew and then turning to the salad, he added, "Yes, it does look delicious."  
  
As they filled their plates, Veronica looked at Colette speculatively. The woman was very pretty for her age, and she was exceedingly curious, but had given remarkably little information about herself. "I'm curious about the intent of your expedition," she asked, "And why the plateau?"  
  
The woman shuddered, "I am sorry, I cannot think of this without remembering...."  
  
"It's quite understandable," Challenger said comfortingly, "You can tell us more once you've had some time to get over the shock."  
  
"Of course," Ned Malone chimed in, "you've been through a horrifying experience."  
  
The jungle girl shook her head. These men never seemed to learn. Before she could say anything further, the elevator's gears began grinding.  
  
"Ah," Challenger exclaimed, "that must be Roxton and Marguerite.  
  
"I wonder if their hunting trip was successful," Malone mused.  
  
"Hunting? What do they hunt for?" Colette asked. "Surely you don't eat dinosaur?"  
  
"Actually," replied Challenger, "several species are quite good. That's raptor stew you're eating."  
  
"Raptor?" she asked.  
  
"Veloceraptor," Ned supplied, "the same type of dinosaurs which..." He stopped, realising how tactless his statement was.  
  
"The dinosaurs which destroyed my camp," Colette finished. She stirred her stew then stabbed a large chunk of meat with her fork. She studied it intently. "Perhaps this is the best revenge." So saying, she popped the meat into her mouth and chewed it with great relish.  
  
The elevator car stopped and Marguerite and Roxton got out. Both were wearing rather satisfied smiles.  
  
"So," Malone asked, "where's the quarry?"  
  
"Still running free, I'm afraid," Lord Roxton replied as he put up his weapons. "We saw little more than a few monkeys."  
  
"A completely unsuccessful trip," Marguerite agreed, sloughing her own weapons.  
  
"We will just have to try again tomorrow," the hunter declared.  
  
Marguerite groaned, but her smile belied her wordless objection.  
  
"Not tomorrow," Challenger countered.  
  
As the two new arrivals approached the table, they noticed their guest for the first time.  
  
"This is Colette Arnot," the scientist explained, "Her camp was attacked by raptors. There were no other survivors. Tomorrow we need to," he paused and glanced sideways at the French woman before adding lamely, "clean up." He began to introduce the returning hunters, but Colette interrupted.  
  
"You have told me so much about your housemates, I feel I already know them. Lord Roxton, Miss Krux," she nodded to each in turn.  
  
As their dinner progressed, Colette asked many questions, but continued to give few answers. Veronica cocked her eyebrows at Malone on more than one occasion. He was beginning to wonder if she might be right; but the woman was so friendly and even helped Marguerite with the dishes. "I think you're being too suspicious," the reporter remarked privately to Veronica.  
  
"You are willing to overlook everything just because she MAY know the way off the plateau."  
  
"Just give her a chance," he squeezed her forearm reassuringly before heading down the stairs.  
  
Unconvinced, the blonde jungle girl quietly watched the woman's interaction with the other explorers. Even Marguerite, usually the most sceptical of their group, seemed willing to accept her at face value.  
  
"You're telling me you don't find it even a little odd?" the younger woman asked her friend confidentially.  
  
Smiling, Marguerite shook her head, "The story she told Challenger makes sense."  
  
"What little she did say," the blonde replied dryly. "And speaking of Challenger...." she trailed off and motioned to where Colette was being overly attentive to Challenger.  
  
Marguerite's eyes narrowed speculatively. "She is coming on a bit strong." She leaned closer to Veronica and added, "It certainly wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on her. I'll see what I can find out tomorrow when the men are out of the way." She spared one last look at the petite woman, nodded to Veronica conspiratorially, then headed to her room.  
  
********  
  
By the time Marguerite made her way to the kitchen the next morning, everyone else had begun their day. She was alone in the tree-house with Colette. "Where is everyone?" she asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.  
  
"The two young girls are in the garden, the men went to salvage..." her voice broke and she was unable to continue.  
  
Marguerite picked up her mug and took a seat across the table from Colette. "You did the right thing," she assured the older woman. "You could never have fought off all those raptors by yourself. All you would have accomplished would have been to die with the others. You should never feel guilty for surviving."  
  
"For surviving I do not feel guilt," the French woman cast her eyes down, "but at the cost."  
  
"Don't try to count that," Marguerite laughed mirthlessly. Then she added quietly, not meaning to be heard, "it adds up all too quickly."  
  
But Colette's ears were sharp, and with a flash of understanding, she remarked, "Then we have much in common."  
  
Marguerite took a small sip of her coffee and looked over the rim at the older woman. "Maybe we have," she agreed. She was surprised at how different the woman seemed this morning. She was more assured, less a frightened bird. She seemed almost purposeful.  
  
The two women shared innocuous conversation which gradually became more and more personal. The usually reticent heiress found herself drawn to this newcomer. And further, she discovered that she truly liked the older woman.  
  
When Veronica and Finn returned from their garden chores, they found the two dark haired women sitting at the table, talking and laughing; their forgotten coffee having grown cold long ago.  
  
Veronica took Marguerite aside and hissed, "I can't believe she's fooled you."  
  
"Did it occur to you that she could be exactly who and what she appears?"  
  
Feeling that they had somehow changed places, Veronica said, "I just don't trust her."  
  
"Are you suspicious of every newcomer?"  
  
Veronica frowned back in stony silence.  
  
"Did you feel this way about us?" the adventuress demanded.  
  
"Not all of you," the jungle girl retorted.  
  
Marguerite gaped at her, grasping the inference immediately. She had no chance to respond, however, as Finn and Colette had lunch ready.  
  
********  
  
Roxton stepped cautiously into the clearing followed closely by Malone and Challenger. The camp site was even worse than when Challenger had first found it. The scientist tried not to think of the human remains which had littered the camp yesterday. Very little of them were left today.  
  
They took turns standing guard as the others searched for anything salvageable, all the while watching for any bodies -- or body parts -- so they could give the unknown dead a burial. They found remarkably little in the way of weapons and ammunition, but they carefully laid aside the few knives and one rifle.  
  
The bits and pieces that were left of the human occupants didn't come close to filling the small pit they dug as a grave.  
  
George Challenger was struck by how little he found in the way of investigative instruments. This had presumably been a scientific expedition but there was nothing in the residue to give evidence of that. There was a great deal of survival supplies, camping equipment, but little else.  
  
Much of what was left was irretrievable. They had to burn the tent canvases. As he pulled together the sodden remains of one tent, Challenger called to the hunter. He pointed out footprints that he had found out at the edge of the camp.  
  
Roxton knelt down to examine the tracks. " They're fresh. Someone's watching us." He carefully scanned the area, seeing no one except Malone who was diligently standing guard. "I don't like this, George," Roxton said as he returned to collecting the rough, odious material. There was little left of the original colour, it had been stained brick red with blood. "The only way this much blood could be spread so thoroughly is if it were done deliberately."  
  
"You think someone, maybe that someone," he nodded toward the footprints, " attracted the raptors on purpose?"  
  
"The hunter added more of the loathsome fabric to the flames. "Have you any other explanation?"  
  
"But who would do such a thing?" The scientist contemplated.  
  
"A question for our Miss Arnot," Roxton replied.  
  
Challenger added a few items to their small pile of salvageable items, "That's a question that will have to wait." The younger man started to object, but Challenger stopped him. "She's not faking the trauma or her fear. We'll keep our eyes and ears open....for now"  
  
********  
  
Watching the younger women leave, Colette commented, "Veronica doesn't like me much."  
  
"It's more that she thinks you've been less than honest; keeping secrets."  
  
"Secrets," Colette contemplated quietly. "Yes, I'm afraid she is right."  
  
"Don't tell Veronica I said this, but she usually is." Her own words gave her pause, but she dismissed her misgivings as Veronica's crack about her own trustworthiness played again in her mind. She'd been wrong there -- mostly. "Besides, what secrets could you have?"  
  
"Nothing a girl born in this jungle would understand," was her ambiguous reply.  
  
"I'm sure she will come around eventually," Marguerite reassured her, "After all what's a secret or two? " Dryly she added, "I've certainly had my share."  
  
"Yes," the French woman agreed. "Many secrets."  
  
The heiress' eyes narrowed. " How do you...."  
  
Your family, your childhood...."  
  
"... Are none of your business," Marguerite was beginning to regret her dismissal of Veronica's wariness. She stood up and demanded, "just what kind of research did you do before coming to the plateau?"  
  
Ah, ma belle, I have watched you all of your life."  
  
Despite the warm day, Marguerite felt a sudden chill. "You've been spying on me?"  
  
"Not spy -- I needed to know that you were cared for. Hoped that you were happy."  
  
Her voice laden with ice, the heiress demanded, "Why?"  
  
The older woman's green eyes clouded and she looked away. After taking a deep breath, she said, "You were such a beautiful baby. You almost never cried."  
  
"No," Marguerite murmured.  
  
"It broke my heart to give you away."  
  
"No," she repeated. "You are not my mother."  
  
"Is it so hard to believe? Am I so awful?" Pointing across the room to a mirror, she continued, "Look at yourself. You have my eyes, my nose, my colouring...."  
  
"There might be a slight resemblance, but that means nothing."  
  
"Do you still have your locket?"  
  
Marguerite said nothing, but continued to glower at the older woman.  
  
"The locket I gave you, it is inscribed 'To our daughter, Marguerite, always in our thoughts'."  
  
Marguerite paled. "How could you..." she broke off confused and stunned. "If, and I'm not saying I believe you, but if it's true, why did you give me away?"  
  
"Oh, ma cheri, where I lived... worked... it was no place for a child."  
  
Filled with trepidation, Marguerite asked, "Where?"  
  
"In a London brothel."  
  
Suddenly Marguerite's legs seemed unable to support her. She lowered herself back into the chair. She saw her life with Roxton, everything she wanted and had worked so hard for, vanishing. One lone tear crawled down her cheek as she denied, "It isn't true."  
  
Colette sat beside her and took up her hands. She began to speak, then stopped. She started several times before she finally took a deep breath and asked, "Am I so awful?"  
  
"I don't know," was Marguerite's painfully honest answer. "If you were.... my father... your child's father... could be anyone."  
  
"I was not always a....courtesan," she exclaimed indignantly.  
  
"Then who?"  
  
Again the older woman seemed indecisive. "It was when your father....left that I..."  
  
Impatiently, angrily, Marguerite interrupted, "Who?"  
  
Colette remained silent a long while. When she finally spoke, she only said a name, "Edgar Somers."  
  
The world began to spin. Things kept getting worse and worse. She ripped her hands from the woman's grasp.  
  
"Marguerite..."  
  
"NO!" The heiress stood unsteadily. "Just keep away." Somers was a traitor. He had been an assistant to the secretary of war and been caught selling secrets. He'd been executed early in the Great War. It was too horrible to be true. Without another glance at Colette, Marguerite somehow made her shaky legs support her long enough to reach her room.  
  
Colette watched her in guilt-ridden silence.  
  
********  
  
Long after dinner, when her friends had already gone to their respective beds, Marguerite finally emerged from her dark room. She needed air. She padded barefoot up the stairs, across the great room, and out onto the balcony.  
  
From the shadows behind her a deep voice said, "Pleasant evening."  
  
Startled, she jumped, then commented, "Roxton, you're still up."  
  
He came forward saying, "Is your headache better?"  
  
"My headache?"  
  
Placing his cup on the railing, he said, "Colette said that you...."  
  
"Why would you believe anything that woman says?" she demanded.  
  
The hunter smiled, thinking he understood, "You think she can't get us off the plateau?"  
  
"No, I'm sure she can."  
  
"Then what's wrong? That's all you've wanted since we were first stranded here."  
  
"You're right," she turned to the jungle and leaned against the railing. As she stared out into the darkness, she added, "I can't wait to see London again."  
  
He came up close beside her and said quietly, "London, Paris, Shanghai ... we'll go where ever you want."  
  
"Roxton," she started impatiently as she turned to look at him, "once I get off this wretched plateau," it nearly ripped her heart out, but somehow she managed to continue, "I see no reason why we should see each other again."  
  
"No reason?" he countered, "but we're ... "  
  
"That has always been your idea, not mine." She looked past him into the dimly lit great room, "We both knew it wouldn't last."  
  
We've survived serial killers, mad ghosts, cave-ins, not to mention the odd dinosaur or two." He smiled confidently, "We can survive London."  
  
"There can't be an 'us'," she replied coldly, "I have other plans."  
  
The hunter shook his dark head, and grabbed her arm. "I don't believe you, what aren't you telling me?"  
  
"You want the whole truth?" She pulled away and grabbed hold of the railing, "Fine. I'm broke. I spent everything I had on this miserable expedition. You gave away every bit of treasure I'd amassed here on the plateau. The small bit I've found since then won't last long." Her grasp on the rail grew tighter. "I've been poor before. I won't live that way again."  
  
Roxton touched her shoulder, "You don't have to."  
  
"You're right," she interrupted shrugging off his hand, "I don't. Just as soon as I arrive, I am going to find the richest man I can. Very rich, very old; preferably a widower with no children expecting to inherit."  
  
Anger crept into his voice as he warned, "Stop it, Marguerite. If money's the problem, I have plenty."  
  
"Lord Roxton," she replied sounding quite calm, "here on this plateau you were the only game in town, but I can do better."  
  
He refused to listen anymore. Grabbing up his empty cup, he threw it across the balcony. Marguerite winced as the delicate porcelain shattered upon contact with the wooden floor. Roxton spared one last glance at the dark-haired beauty, then stalked from her presence.  
  
Marguerite at last released her strangle-hold on the railing. Her hand was cramped from gripping so tightly. She turned back to the darkness, feeling more alone than she ever had. She had just pushed away the only man she would ever love, and her happiness was less likely to be restored than the shards of Roxton's cup. Yet she knew that she had done the right thing. With her pedigree, she could only cause him grief.  
  
Roxton's anger dissipated as quickly as it had risen. Marguerite's white knuckles, her overly calm voice, even the way she was standing all pointed to one thing: she was lying. Deliberately pushing him away. She loved him, of that he had no doubt. In fact, in her own way, she was probably trying to protect him. But from what? He returned to the balcony. "Are you ready to tell me the truth?"  
  
The quiet question startled Marguerite. The hunter's approach had been so silent that until he spoke, she hadn't realised that he'd returned.  
  
"There's nothing more to tell," she prevaricated.  
  
"I know you better than that."  
  
"It seems you don't know me as well as you think, Lord Roxton."  
  
He stepped closer and tilted her chin up. Looking into her smoky green eyes, he smiled. "I know you," he asserted simply and with finality.  
  
He was so sure of himself, so sure of her. His certainty undermined her carefully maintained composure. Her bravado deserted her and her arms fell to her sides in defeat.  
  
"Why can't you leave it alone?"  
  
"You know why," he assured her. "I'm not going away... ever. So tell me. Let me help -- share whatever trouble you think you're in."  
  
She sighed and began, "All my life I've been searching..." She stopped and looked imploringly at Roxton, "was there ever anything you desperately wanted but when you got it you realised," she paused again, then continued, "you realised that it wasn't what you wanted at all?"  
  
Confused, he shook his head and slightly lifted his shoulders.  
  
"My parents, John."  
  
"You don't know who they are." He was puzzled.  
  
She nodded her dark head, took a deep breath and blurted out, "I'm the bastard daughter of a whore and a traitor."  
  
"I doubt that," he asserted shaking his head.  
  
"It's true," she said in a flat voice.  
  
"Where did you get such and idea?" He took her hand and rubbed it lightly.  
  
"Colette."  
  
"How would she..."  
  
"She knew them."  
  
"Don't you think it's just a little coincidental that she knew your parents and ended up here on the plateau where you can't verify her story?" Before she could answer, he continued, "Didn't you say I shouldn't trust anything she said?"  
  
"It wasn't a coincidence." She looked up into his face, beseechingly. "She has proof."  
  
"What proof?"  
  
"It doesn't matter," she insisted, "I'm not..."  
  
"You're not your parents," the hunter interrupted. "Even if true, none of it matters." He tried to pull her close.  
  
"But it does!" She attempted to extricate her hand from his, but he held fast. "Don't you see?"  
  
"No," he guaranteed with a gentle smile. "I love you, and nothing: not your parentage, your fortune or lack thereof, or even your secrets can change that."  
  
"John, if it became public, you would be a laughing stock --- ostracised from society."  
  
"I don't care. Society and I have never seen eye to eye. We'll face this together, just as we always have."  
  
She couldn't stop a small smile, "I knew you would say that."  
  
He pulled her close.  
  
"No," she objected unconvincingly.  
  
His smile grew as he finally coaxed her into his arms. "Whatever happens, I'll always be here."  
  
She finally gave in. She had no further strength or will to fight him.  
  
He tilted her face up and his lips lightly brushed hers. "Don't you know by now," he whispered huskily, "I'll never let you go." And then there was no further need for words as his mouth again descended and covered hers. Her arms wound around his neck as he clutched her close.  
  
Marguerite relaxed, safe in his arms, and then she realised that she had to tell him about Colette. She stiffened and brought her hands down, pushing against his chest. She put a few inches between them while remaining within the circle of his arms. "I have to tell you..." she started.  
  
Roxton interrupted, frustrated, "Is the tree-house on fire?"  
  
Confused, the penniless heiress shook her head.  
  
"Then tell me later," and he pressed her body once again against his as he kissed her urgently. Her ready response fuelled his passion and his hands strayed to her buttons.  
  
The grinding gears of the elevator interrupted them.  
  
"Who is out at this hour?" Marguerite asked impatiently.  
  
Nuzzling her neck as they moved into the great room, he answered, "Colette." Reluctantly, he let her move away just enough for decency's sake. "She said a walk in the night air helps her sleep. She did the same thing last night. Before she could comment he added, "And yes, I warned her to remain within the electric fence."  
  
The elevator stopped and Colette took two steps into the room before realising it was not empty, "Ma cheri, Lord Roxton, You are still up?"  
  
There was movement behind her in the elevator car. When the man stepped forward into the meagre light, Marguerite frowned and then gasped, "Karl ..." Roxton's voice joined hers and in unison they said, "Kreiger." They glanced at each other briefly in surprise.  
  
The tall, lean man had a scar running down his face beginning somewhere in his thick blonde hair, running through his left eyebrow, barely missing his eye and ending at the corner of his mouth. The whitened scar puckered as he smiled, "So you both remember me." He had a heavy German accent; his voice was silky, and somehow snakelike, "how nice. Then you know why you are going to die." His cold, blue eyes burned with an icy fire as he raised his pistol.  
  
"It was war," Marguerite responded calmly. "I was doing my job."  
  
"You destroyed my life!" he replied. "I lost my rank, my money, my family, everything because of you! Running a finger down his cheek, following the scar, he added, "When I finish with you, you will look far worse than this."  
  
"I only wish I had taken out your eye as well," she spat in response.  
  
He only clicked his tongue at her before he turned his venomous eyes on the hunter. "And you, Major Lord Roxton." He shook his weapon at the hunter. "Your testimony put me in prison with no possibility of release."  
  
"And yet you are here," Roxton pointed out, wondering if their friends had been awakened and would soon be coming up the stairs.  
  
Kreiger chuckled, "I was being transferred to a more secure facility. The guards never knew what hit them."  
  
Colette was completely confused, "You said you had been released. That the authorities had discovered that Lord Roxton had lied. That Marguerite had forged..."  
  
The German glanced at her in contempt. "Stupid cow, I doubt that I am the first man to have lied to you."  
  
"He was a spy," Marguerite explained quietly. "He was directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of good men."  
  
"It would have been several thousand," Roxton added, "if he hadn't been stopped in time. Right here on the plateau he has added another dozen to his tally." Kreiger's broad grin was proof that the hunter's guess was right.  
  
"What? Who?" Colette squeaked.  
  
"Your bearers, everyone in your party except the two of you," was Roxton's confident reply.  
  
With tears in her eyes, Colette objected tearfully, "But they were killed by the dinosaurs..."  
  
"The raptors were his weapon of choice. He poured enough blood on the camp to attract dozens of raptors."  
  
The tiny woman realised that she had been deceived. Her instincts had told her to trust the explorers, but Kreiger had been so convincing. She felt like a fool. Turning to Marguerite she sobbed, "Ma cheri, I am so sorry."  
  
Keeping his weapon trained on his antagonists, Kreiger grabbed Colette's upper arm with his free hand. "You're useless! Join your new friends." He pushed her forcefully across the room. She slammed into a chair and went sprawling near Marguerite's feet.  
  
Marguerite stooped to help the older woman up.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah," the escapee chided, "touch her and you die right now."  
  
The dark beauty straightened, brushing Roxton's arm as she did so. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  
  
"You said you had done your job," Kreiger said with disgust as he noticed the tender gesture. " Are you incapable of doing anything?"  
  
"I am glad it did not work," Colette spat back.  
  
"I wanted to take everything from you," he again addressed the explorers, "as you had from me. The two of you joining Professor Challenger's doomed quest confirmed what I had suspected all along: you had conspired against me."  
  
"There was no conspiracy," Roxton said evenly.  
  
"We didn't even know each other," Marguerite protested.  
  
"Silence," he warned. "I enjoyed the irony that you had survived the war only to end up on this ghastly plateau. But it isn't enough. You need to lose everything before I watch you die."  
  
Colette had risen and was standing next to the explorers. "I am such an idiot. To have trusted, believed such a man," she lamented.  
  
Kreiger was so enamoured of his own voice, that he didn't hear the French woman speak. He continued explaining his plan. "I knew how to take Miss Smith's, Marguerite if I may...."  
  
She sneered at him, but said nothing.  
  
"Yes, Marguerite's self respect, but the Major was more difficult. Once here, however, I watched you and knew that to destroy one would destroy the other. But the French whore failed me. Now I will just have to settle for letting one of you watch the other die." His smile grew broader still. The scar made the smile seem obscene. "Ladies first."  
  
Roxton gauged the distance between them and knew that he could never reach the deranged man before he fired his weapon. He had no choice though, he had to try. He leapt forward just as he heard the shot. Marguerite's strangled cry behind him caused a sudden white fire to spring before his eyes. He bore the German to the floor. The two men wrestled, pummelling each other, each with one hand grasping the hot gun. Roxton could feel Kreiger's finger begin to tighten on the trigger, but he couldn't stop it. They each tried to turn the barrel toward the other, but it was locked between their tumbling bodies.  
  
Lord Roxton didn't hear the shot, but he felt the retort as the gun went off between them. What he did hear was Marguerite's anguished voice as she cried, "John?" It was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. She was alive!  
  
He disentangled himself from the lifeless German wincing with pain from the bruise caused by the gun's kick against his stomach, and hurried to his Marguerite.  
  
She clutched him tightly, relieved that he was all right. Then she turned and dropped to her knees, cradling Colette on her lap. The pale green and cream colours of the older woman's blouse was rapidly turning crimson. Marguerite pressed against the wound in a futile attempt to staunch the flow of blood.  
  
Veronica had been awakened earlier by the sound of breaking glass, but when she'd gone to check, she saw Roxton and Marguerite together on the balcony and hadn't intruded. She'd returned to her room and settled back down but, she was not yet asleep when she heard the elevator. She had chuckled at the thought of Colette walking in on the volatile couple's tryst. When she'd heard the raised voices, one of which she didn't recognise, she went up to investigate. She entered the room just in time to see Colette throw herself against Marguerite taking the bullet which had been meant for the heiress. At that same time, Roxton attacked the stranger who was dead seconds later. She'd had no time to help either of her friends, and although they were all right, Colette was dying.  
  
The woman had given her life for Marguerite. Maybe she'd misjudged the French woman. Footsteps on the stairs told her that the first shot, fired only seconds ago, had awakened their friends.  
  
Challenger burst into the room, and stopped short when he saw Marguerite clutching Colette. He'd only known the woman a matter of hours, but he had already grown fond of her. In spite of the questions he'd had about her, he'd hoped that she would become a member of their family. Now to lose her as they had lost so many others.... He just wanted it to stop. With each death, he lost a little of himself.  
  
The scientist walked toward the two women, but knew from the amount of blood that the Colette had lost that he couldn't help. Roxton looked up at him and grimly shook his head, then he turned back to Marguerite.  
  
"I have finally done something right," the older woman gasped feebly.  
  
Marguerite looked at Roxton helplessly. She turned pleading eyes to Challenger, but his expression told her that there was no chance. Hopelessly, she turned back to Colette, "You'll be all right," she lied.  
  
"Non, I am not quite so foolish to believe that, but I am pleased to have known you. And to die for one you care for is a good death."  
  
Marguerite kissed the woman's temple and pleaded, "No, Colette -- Mother -- please...."  
  
The two women spoke so quietly that even Roxton, who knelt beside them, only caught a few words.  
  
"I wish you were mine." Marguerite had to strain to hear the weak voice. Colette spoke "Karl found me in a brothel outside London. He devised your humiliation because of my resemblance to you, Cherie. He lied..." She choked. Her small body convulsed. Bright red drops of blood dotted her lips as she forced out the words, "I am sorry, so very sorry." She took a few shallow gasps of air, then met Marguerite's eyes again and smiled weakly. "It was all lies -- about your parents."  
  
"But the locket?" she sobbed.  
  
"Karl had seen it, remembered it from a party." She coughed again, then seemed to relax, and she smiled, "I wish it was true." She reached up and touched the younger woman's cheek as she whispered, "Had I a daughter, I would want her to be you." Her last words were almost lost. Her hand fell.  
  
"Please," the adventuress begged quietly, "no." She clasped the limp body close and gently rocked as she cried silently.  
  
********  
  
"I think she would have liked this," Marguerite Krux murmured to Lord Roxton.  
  
They were standing by a new grave. Challenger was the first to leave mumbling that he had work waiting in his lab. The others pretended not to notice how watery his eyes were.  
  
Veronica stood slightly apart from the others. She should have felt vindicated that she had been right about the woman's deceit but instead, she remembered that Colette had been duped. She had been a victim too. And she had died saving one of their own. Ned Malone moved closer to the jungle girl. She looked at the reporter and wondered. He always said that he admired her absolutes of right and wrong, good and evil, white and black, but maybe there was room for grey. She had always been so hard on Marguerite. When in truth, the heiress could always be depended upon by any of them. Oh, to be sure, she would gripe about it, but she had saved all of their lives countless times. "And then," Veronica admonished herself, "I would never thank her. I'd just complain because it wasn't how I would have done it." She resolved to make up for her sometimes horrid treatment of her secretive friend. Quietly, amid her introspection, she and Malone left the grave site; heading back to the treehouse with Finn following.  
  
Marguerite was able to say her final farewells without an audience. A few lonely tears slid quietly down her already stained cheeks.  
  
Roxton's arm slipped around her, lending his silent support. She took his hand and squeezed in a wordless "Thank you." Then they too left the quiet, green hill side.  
  
On the gravestone, Roxton had carved, "Colette Arnot, beloved mother."  
  
end 


End file.
